Causality
by Malum Ad Malum
Summary: The principal that nothing can happen without being caused. A simple action can never be simple.
1. Chapter 1

_The most important thing that parents can teach their children is how to get along without them._

_ ~ Frank A. Clark

* * *

_

Nicky Aurion learned about his mother's priorities early in life. The list was simple: booze was first, followed by food and rent, followed by boyfriends, followed by her two sons.

"Nicky, shut that damn kid up!" Stella pounded the table, knocking over her wine glass. "Shut up!"

Nicky picked up his baby brother. "Ma, maybe you should go lay down. You look tired."

"I don't want to lie down," she grunted. "I want to have some peace and quiet. I'm going to the bar." With that, she stood, her heels clipping on the stone floor. She was tall and thin, dark and superior, but she had a strange attraction about her. Pin-straight, sleek black hair framed her high cheek bones and sharp features beautifully.

The door shut with a snap, leaving Nicky and the baby in the dimly lit home. Nicky sighed and pulled a bottle down from the shelf. "Shhh," he whispered, patting his brother on the back. "I'm here, I'm here."

The boy continued to wail, just like every other night.

After a bottle, the infant settled down, sleeping peacefully in his older sibling's arms. After an hour, Nicky fell asleep, too, clinging tightly to his little brother.

"Wake up!" Nicky's face stung suddenly as his mother's hand came down. The familiar smells of her came rushing back. Strong vanilla, her cheap perfume; smoke and alcohol, from the bar; and his personal favorite, the only thing about her that seemed normal, was the scent of paper. Nicky would remember that smell until he grew old and died, it was that familiar to him.

"Get your ass out of here," Stella hissed. "Take him with you. Out."

Nicky hitched his still-sleeping brother up onto his shoulder and left, sidling past a stranger half hidden in shadow. The man paid no attention to him. Stella, however, struck him across the head as he reached for the diaper bag. "Get the hell out, now."

"I need to grab the bag," Nicky whispered. "Ma, he needs diapers and clothes and food-"

"Don't talk back!" Stella shrieked, landing another blow to his face. This time, though, Nicky lost his balance and fell, landing on his knees. His brother dropped to the floor, Nicky unable to steady himself before his sibling hit the stone. The infant let out a loud cry of pain, infuriating his mother.

"You, you little bastard, pick him up and-" She stopped abruptly, staring at her son struggling on the floor. "You look like him," she whispered. Suddenly, her interest turned to anger and her foot struck out and smashed into his face. "Out!" she screamed, her rage taking over. The next kick narrowly missed the screaming baby. "Get the hell out, you little son of a bitch!"

The man she'd come home with, who'd been watching silently, looked alarmed. "Stell, he's just a kid, ease up."

Stella was panting, tears down her face. The man reached over and took her hand, which only enraged her more. "Get the hell away from me!" She slapped him across the face, then resumed her abuse of Nicky. The baby was still crying, with his brother unable to comfort him.

"Watch it," the man warned. "Look, I'll get back to you tomorrow or something, just calm down tonight."

Stella beat on the man with her fists. "Get the hell out of my house!" She kept hitting him, beating him back out the door.

"Sorry, kid," he yelled over to Nicky. "I tried, I'm sorry!"

When the man was out the door, Stella seemed to have run out of steam. She collapsed on the floor, sobbing and holding her head in her hands. Nicky stood, grabbing his brother and running into the only safe place: the closet.

Stella never went into the closet. It was filled with boxes, boxes of old pictures and clothes. Once, Nicky had rummaged through them during her tantrum and found a photo album. The pictures were those of a young girl, happy and playing in a park. It took him a few minutes to realize it was his mother. Later in the album, there were pictures of a handsome, dark-haired man in a suit, holding his mother in a white dress. She looked happy, her smile lighting up the photo. The man was broad-shouldered, the type of man any woman would fall for. "A charming devil," his mother told him when he asked. "Your father was a charming devil, who wrangled me into marriage and then left me when he found someone new."

There were other pictures, pictures of the man (Nicky never called him Dad) rubbing Stella's pregnant belly, then holding a baby, then playing with a toddler-version of Nicky. The album ended after that, no more pictures, an incomplete ending. Like his brother, who was almost three months old and still had no name, the album was ignored, but always there in the back of his mother's mind.

In the closet now, though, Nicky didn't look at the pictures. He didn't comfort his brother. He sat down and cried. He held his brother, rocked him back and forth, and sobbed uncontrollably. He was almost twelve, too old for a boy to cry. But it killed him inside, the thought of his beautiful mother being so broken down. He hadn't cried in years, had kept his composure for so long. He cried for what seemed like hours, until he once again fell asleep.

When Nicky woke, his brother was asleep in his arms again. He heard nothing on the other side of the door, signaling safety to leave the closet. He picked up his brother, clutching him tightly. He carefully crept out and saw his mother slumped against the door and snoring. And it all hit him at once.

"She's never going to get better," he whispered to the baby. "She hates us." A surge of fraternal protection kicked in. Whatever happened, Nicky had to protect his unnamed sibling.

He grabbed the diaper bag, filling it with random articles of clothes, diapers, bottles filled with milk, and the only toy his brother had, a stuffed dog that had belonged to Nicky. On the side, stitched on his leg, were the words 'To Nicky, Love Daddy'. Now it belonged to his baby brother.

Nicky slung the bag over his shoulder, picked his brother up, and headed for the door. He stopped, however, and turned for the bedroom. His mother, he knew, kept a jar of money under her bed. "For emergencies," she told him, which usually meant wine when she ran out of money. He thought about leaving some for her, then remembered the kick that had almost hit his brother's head. He grabbed it all and shoved it in the bag.

As he left, Nicky grabbed some of his things: clothes, food, and one book. A deep red color with faded silver lettering on the side saying _Myths From An Ancient World. _A collection of short stories. He'd read the book so many times, he knew them all by heart. As he finished packing, his brother opened his eyes, cooing quietly.

"Hey, buddy," Nicky whispered. He waved his finger near his brother, who grabbed it and giggled. Nicky smiled. "You're strong, aren't you?" He recalled one of the stories from the book he was now packing, about a Titan of strength. "Let's see, a name for you. How do you like Kratos for a name?"

For a second, the baby's face was blank. Then it lit up with a smile of newly formed teeth and a tiny tongue. Nicky laughed. "Kratos it is. Let's go, Kratos. Let's go far away from here, to a better place. Sylvarant, maybe. Away from Meltokio, this hellish place."

Nicky picked up Kratos, snuck past his mother, and managed to ease the door open and get out without waking her. He started to hum softly, holding his brother close as they made their way past the slobs, the whores, the drunks, and the ill. "I'll protect you," he said softly. "Always."


	2. Chapter 2

_When you lose someone you love, you die too, and you wait around for your body to catch up._

_~ John Scalz_i

* * *

They spoke in whispers, occasionally casting glances over at Yuan, who was really the only one who could understand them. Their two daughters, Nan and Lora, were too young to know what they were talking about. But Yuan would understand perfectly.

The troops were coming. The family was out of time and money. Feeding three children, three half-elves no less, was an ordeal. So they had a plan, a simple plan: give the food to their children and leave them to sit and wait alone. Hope that the poison was quick.

So they took the three out to an alley by the marketplace of Luin. It was almost sunset; no one would see them, or bother to look, or do anything to stop them. They gave each of them a plate of food, telling them to eat it all before they left, ran from town to go to a safe place.

But Yuan was the older brother; at ten years old, he knew that his sisters were hungry, and that he should be selfless. So he gave them his share and watched them drift off to sleep. He didn't notice anything was wrong until mid-afternoon the next day, when no amount of shaking would wake them.

* * *

Nick collapsed onto the bed, exhausted from work. Being a tailor didn't earn him much money, but it was enough to move him and Kratos to another town. With any luck, they'd be in Hima by next week.

Luin was becoming a ghost town. Everyone who had the means to was leaving. News had reached the village of a planned attack on Luin by the Tethe'allan army, so everyone left in anticipation of it. Except for those who had nowhere else to go, no money to head off, or just didn't want to leave their home.

The door to the bedroom he shared with his brother opened and Kratos clambered up onto the bed. "Nicky, I'm hungry. Can I go get something to eat?" As if to accent his hunger, the boy's stomach growled.

"Yeah, here." Nick pulled out a few coins, enough to get some food. "Go to the market and get some bread and beef. Hurry home, okay? I don't want you out after dark."

Kratos obeyed, splashing through the puddles on his way to the market. It didn't rain often in Luin; Kratos didn't like that. Without the rain, nothing would grow. That was what had happened in Iselia, back when he'd first started school. Nothing grew, so Nick had told him it was time to leave.

As he was coming back with the food (sandwiches, yum!) he saw a little movement in the alleyway. He glanced down and saw a little boy a little older than him sitting against the wall.

"Hello?" he called down. The other boy stiffened, but didn't move. Kratos started walking down.

As he got closer, he could make out the figures of two little girls next to him, sleeping. "Hello," he repeated. The other boy just looked up at him, but didn't speak.

"Do you need a place to sleep?" he asked, holding out his hand. The boy didn't take it. "What's wrong?"

At first, the boy didn't say anything. Then, "They're gone."

His voice was hoarse from lack of use. Kratos looked at him uncertainly, not sure who he was talking about. "Who's gone?"

"Everyone." The little boy was silent again, even though Kratos tried to persuade him to reveal more. Finally, Kratos gave up.

"Okay, I'll go get my brother. He'll help you. He helps everyone."

Kratos ran home, hoping Nicky would help the other kids. Luin didn't have many kids to play with, either. Usually, Kratos was left alone to read or draw or just play by himself. Maybe with three new kids to play with, he'd be less bored.

"Nicky! Nicky, I need you!" Nick left the bedroom, half-asleep.

"What's wrong, Kratos?" he asked wearily.

"There are some kids over there who need your help," Kratos said. "Please?" he added, putting on his puppy dog eyes.

Nick sighed. "Look, Kratos, it's probably a couple kids who are playing around."

"They're not! They're asleep and won't talk to me!" Kratos pleaded. Nick sighed again, this time in defeat.

"Fine," he said, putting on his jacket. "We'll help find their parents. They'll be fine," he added, seeing his brother's baseless -or so he thought- anxiety.

The two brothers walked back to where the other kids were, still in the same place in the alley. Nick knew, without even being close enough to see their faces, that something wasn't right.

"Wait here," he told Kratos. He stopped and sat down with the little boy. "Are you okay?"

The boy said nothing. Being very careful, he reached over and touched one of the girls. He quickly pulled his hand back. She was cold and limp, clearly dead.

"How long have you been sitting here?" he asked, feeling slightly ill. The last thing he wanted was to have his brother see a dead girl. Or two, as the case may be.

The boy didn't answer at first. Then, slowly, he said, "…It's my fault."

"No," Nick said, but he had no idea what the boy was talking about. "Look, let's take to my house and get you something to eat."

The boy said nothing, not until Nick reached out and picked up one of the girls. He started to cry, shaking as he held his head in his hands.

"Come on," he said, holding the body close to his chest. "We'll give these girls a proper burial." He gently touched the boy's shoulder. "Let's go."

The boy stood up quietly, still crying, tears down his face, and followed as Nick picked up the other girl, cradling them close. It was enough to make him sick as he turned and went back to Kratos.

* * *

The undertaker was leaving town, and the only reason he made caskets for the little girls free of charge was because Nick, the only tailor in Luin, had once made him a suit for his daughter's wedding on short notice and given it to him at a very low price. He shook his head occasionally, muttering about the 'poor sweethearts'. Nick knew the undertaker was prejudiced and thought much less of half-elves. He saw the irony.

The two girls looked human. But Nick could clearly see the elven features on the little boy, as well as the familial similarities. They were siblings, and they were most likely half-elves. But he decided it was better this way, not letting their secret slip. Let them be buried in peace, he thought.

He'd sent Kratos and other boy, who still hadn't told them his name, home to eat and go to bed. Then he'd headed over to the church and found the undertaker there, praying. In these war-ridden times, when everyone was terrified of the Tethe'allans, most people migrated to the church in the evening to pray.

The undertaker promised a good burial for them, planning a date a few days away for the funeral. He said that he'd do it right before he left town, which suited Nick just fine. He was leaving soon with Kratos, anyway.

When he got home, he was surprised to see that Kratos was asleep on the couch. He gently shook him awake. "Hey, where's your buddy?"

"Bedroom," Kratos muttered, rolling over.

Nick picked up his brother and crept with him into the bedroom. He tried not to think about the weight of those little girls in his arms, or the coldness of their skin, or how limp their arms and legs were. Instead, he concentrated on Kratos: his spiky head of hair, the warmth of his body, the sound of his steady breathing.

In the bedroom, the little boy was asleep on Kratos' bed, curled up in a ball. Nick laid his brother down on his own bed and sat at the foot of the smaller one. He ran his hand over the blue head of hair, brushing it behind his spiked ears. Now that Nick looked closer, the boy was tiny. He wasn't just thin, but emaciated and bony. He had grime under his fingernails and his clothes were frayed and dirty. He wasn't wearing shoes, nor had either of his sisters.

As Nick stood up and climbed into bed, curling up beside Kratos, the boy opened his eyes. They were a sea-green color, staring into the darkness at Nick. After a few minutes, they closed again, but Nick still got the feeling he was awake. Finally, he whispered, "Good night."

His eyes opened again, but the boy was silent.


End file.
